


I Never Meant For Us to Meet Again, Not Like This

by Jude81



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DAMNIT!, Feels!, Gen, but with hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:34:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short ditty based of of 3.09. Mainly focuses on Lexa and Aden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Meant For Us to Meet Again, Not Like This

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be writing fluff and this happened! *wails. I'm sorry. I just couldn't get this out of my head. I wrote this in one sitting, and didn't really bother to edit.

He refused to shut his eyes, refused to look away as his fate stared back at him with dead, dark eyes. But he couldn’t help it when his body had a mind of its own, and his eyes slid shut without his permission.

He stared up at the sky, his brow furrowed in confusion. He sat up abruptly, glancing around wildly. This was not right. He wasn’t supposed to be laying in a field of grass, the sun softly beating on his face. He hauled himself to his knees, his hands shaking as they went up to his neck. He took a deep breath, feeling the burn in his lungs, the heavy weight on his chest. His fingertips fluttered like butterfly wings against the delicate skin of his throat, and he choked when he felt his own smooth skin against his roughened fingers.

He gasped and leaned over, clutching at his throat, the relief burning through him, making his muscles tremble and rattle against his bones. He wheezed again, and finally sat back on his heels, trying to center himself like he’d been taught. But then he heard it, a soft moan, and he turned on his knees, rising to a crouch, his hand vainly grasping for the dagger at his thigh. He felt momentary panic when he couldn’t find it, but he refused to give in to his own terror.

He crouched low, his eyes trained on the spot behind a small mound in the grass. He was ready, each muscle trembling, ready to pounce, and then he heard the sound of a wounded animal as it rose to its feet only to crash back into the ground.

His mouth fell open when he recognized her. She was Wren, the youngest of the night bloods, having only seen seven summers. He stood up slowly, his face twisted in confusion. He glanced around and watched in a quiet sort of horror as one by one his fellow night bloods dragged themselves to their feet, stumbling as they walked towards him.

He could see their confusion, he could feel their pain trembling along his nerves, and he wanted to scream. He felt tired and hollow, lost, and forsaken. He closed his eyes tightly, only for them to fly open again a moment later, as the memories crashed into his mind. He stumbled and fell to his knees retching as he saw the blade slashing towards his throat. He could feel the hot weight of his own blood sliding down his belly, staining his legs.

He barely managed to get to his feet, pushing against the smaller bodies that crowded around him. He took one step than two, then three and then he felt her. His chest heaved and vomit stained his lips as he looked up and met wet green eyes. He couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t deny it, and he threw himself at her, and she caught him and gathered him to her chest and cradled him there. And he felt the pain and fear slowly ebb from his shaking body, and the tears burned hotly down his cheeks.

“Oh Heda, Oh my Heda,” he wept, burying his face in her rough jacket. He groaned when he heard her heart thump against his ears, and a fresh wave of tears coursed down his hot cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Heda, I failed you.” He wept bitterly, choking on his own breath, and he wanted nothing more than to scream his sorrow, and his intense relief that he was finally back with his Heda.

“Oh, Aden.” She cradled him tightly in her arms, the pain searing her heart. She gazed at the small bodies starting to crowd around her, touching her, the confusion and fear lingering in their eyes. And as she gazed into each pair of eyes: green, brown, blue, and gray; she felt her heart burst in her chest as she saw their deaths reflected back at her.

She reached out her arm, trying to gather them all to her, murmuring to them all over and over again, as their small bodies sagged into her own.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “I wanted better for you, I never meant for us to meet again, not like this.” She wrapped her arms around their shaking bodies, the tears stinging her eyes as she counted each little body, realizing that all were accounted.

He finally pulled back, the snot running down his nose, his eyes swollen and puffy. She smiled sadly at him, still on her knees in the field of grass. She reached up and gently wiped his nose with her thumb. He smiled sheepishly at her. She grasped his wrists gently in her hands and took a deep breath.

“Ontari?”

“Sha, Heda,” he grimaced the anger flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth to tell her the rest, but he choked on his own anger, and his bones ached with his failure.

Lexa squeezed his wrists gently and nodded to him. She reached out with her left hand and gently cupped wet faces, and bony shoulders, patted small chests, and pulled warm bodies into her own. And she knelt there, and then pulled Aden down into her lap, and one by one, small bodies slumped against her and drifted off to sleep.

She ran her hands across small backs, through matted curls, and along small hands. She smiled sadly as they slept in a pile around her, clutching at each other, clutching at her jacket, at their Heda.

He cuddled into her side, feeling the pain in his weary bones ease. Her scent enveloped him, and he could feel the warmth of his fellow night bloods. He clutched her jacket in one hand, refusing to let go even in sleep. She was his Heda, his everything.

She felt the tears course down her cheeks and she looked up into the blue sky, feeling the wind upon her face. She had always known that the day would come when she would have to welcome her young night bloods home, just as she was sure the previous Heda had done with her own fellow night bloods. But she had prayed their bodies wouldn’t still be so young, that their deaths wouldn’t have been steeped in murder and betrayal. And she had never dreamt that all of them would arrive at the same time.

She let her gaze drop to his rough curls, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, her heart aching in her cold chest. He had been her chosen, her favorite. She knew it was dangerous to care about her night bloods, but she had. She had loved each and every one of them, and she had raised them and taught them, and nurtured them, knowing all along that all but one would die.

But now…now…her chosen rested in her arms, and she was afraid for what this would mean for Clarke. She had been so sure that Aden would be the next commander, and he had sworn a blood oath to her, as had all of the night bloods to protect Clarke and the Skaikru.

But even as she worried for Clarke, a small part of her felt an immense relief that her night bloods would never know the pain of having to choose each other’s deaths over their own. They would never have to make the hard choices between who would live and who would die. Their young backs wouldn’t be adorned with the scars and memories of those they had killed.

No, here, they were safe. Here they would no longer be night bloods. They would simply be children, and they would laugh and run and play; and eventually the horrors of death would leave them. She smiled sadly as she looked down at her children. For that is what they were, hers. Here she could love them as she had never truly dared before.

“You are safe, my loves,” she whispered as another tear dripped down her cheek. “You are safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> You probably all hate me now. Is ok. Thoughts?


End file.
